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At the center of the world
our bodies float over each other
near to everything, at the center
of being
Not like arrows pointing in three directions
but like our own bodies
pulsing in and out
Laughter can cure nearly anything
it is sa
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And when at night you stare
at dark walls and one pair of lips
comes closer, whispering in perfect German
Ich bin deine Mutter -
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& where, I wonder, is the poet’s planet,
What kind of king, or queen rules it?
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How freeing to writhe under someone with more muscles than fat, who could keep it up longer than minute, who afterwards stroked my hair and if he noticed the fine silver strands by my ears didn’t mention them. I forget his name...
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She walks alone in black high heels
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Now all I have left is yesterdays.
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That was the night that everything began to happen. It must have been past 3:00 a.m. when Darrell came down from the attic right into our bedroom. I lay nearly paralyzed with guilt beside my wife, trying to get to sleep. Elizabeth had staggered to bed
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Occupy Wall Street protestors in Boston complained that homeless people had taken coats, blankets and food donated to the fight against income inequality. “They don’t bring anything to the table,” said a spokesman at the information tent.
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A bride, dressed in white gown and flowing veil, totters in high heels down the uneven pavement past Simone’s Café. She holds a bouquet of red and orange chrysanthemums. Three men, wearing black tuxes, accompany her; one of them holds up the hem of her dr
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A motivational speaker I know intimately cannot abide any form of swearing.
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After the shooting, they sent the boy away. He returned taller and heavier, a sulkier version of his earlier self.
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We all build portraits, meaning we all try to encapsulate and thus punctuate time. Why? Because, who among us can swallow eternity whole?
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"My mother loses patience when I get sad," I said. "She tells me about the dog."
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Jackson ran his sweaty hands over his vintage cowboy shirt hoping testosterone would iron it.
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I stared deep into the sepias...
And you touched my soul anew.
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The men who have come to take me have science on their side. I know this is true, and yet I sit on the same bed I've had since girlhood, unable to move myself to pack even a pair of socks. What does one wear at the asylum anyway? Pajamas? Certainly my suits will be useless.…
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This happened to me on Friday, May 3, 2002 in North Austin on the corner of North Lamar and Mulberry Street.
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In his dream, he was choking on an ice cube. He didn’t know what would happen first — if it would melt or he would die.
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Eve is eating a plum. The plum is cold and how it got cold is sort of a mystery, but there are mysteries everywhere and the cold juice on her face doesn't really incline her to worry much about mysteries.
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Let me tell you a story, child, of how your father became your father...
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A glance—I dissolved completely.
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Step off, dude. I have no intention of coming back to you.
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At least, I think it was him. It sure looked like him.
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I have, for example, watched Stanley Kubrick's "The Shining" 117 times.
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it seemed odd
from even the
first few seconds.
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The sky is orange and red. It’s getting dark out by the time Sophie goes inside to tell Mom. The colors of everything fade together and turn gray, even the grass and my pink bicycle.
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The monarchs that migrate to Mexico and California in the autumn every year live for only a month.
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Can I really be blamed? Look at the circumstantial evidence: you wore that skirt, which can hardly be called a skirt. More like a very wide plaid belt.
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This is your mystery, your story Full of beauty and all-encompassing loveA brushstroke washes the canvas cleanYou start over with a new directionDreaming of me as you paint your wordsWriting just like Keats, Shelley and BrontëAbout sorrow, rain and the wheels of passion
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